“The pine trees whisper to the Karst traveler, who quenches his thirst with the dark Teran wine, which is like blood,
his sweat drips over the land that is fertile, but there is little of it. For centuries, the rocks were stacked in dry walls.
The Karst as a synonym of effort not only for man, but even the hooves of the karst horses have adapted to the terrain,
which is vibrant, full of cracks and stones and sharp rocks that grow and force themselves from the ground.”